She came back muffled in a floor-length fur coat. It looked a little bedraggled to Jake, the fur shiny. Could it be mink? he asked himself. Awfully expensive, if it is.

Mrs. Sinclair led Jake to the front hall closet, where she pulled out a long wool scarf and wrapped it over her head. All smiles, she nodded that she was ready to leave the house. Jake zipped up his car coat, pulled his watch cap out of its pocket and, with his free hand, opened the front door.

The afternoon was clear and crisp, although there were clouds building up over the mountains. Jake followed Mrs. Sinclair’s directions through the town of Vernon and out into the brown frozen countryside. Patches of snow covered parts of the fields, although the road was clear and dry.

“Are we heading the right way?” he asked as they drove beneath an overpass for the interstate highway.

“It’s just another little bit,” she said, her eyes aimed straight ahead. “Less than a mile.”

Sure enough, in a minute she pointed excitedly. “There it is! Turn off here!”

Jake saw a fair-sized single-story building, fake adobe style. A dozen or so cars were in the wide parking lot. A garish electronic sign by the side of the road proclaimed, BLUE MOUNTAIN CASINO.

A gambling casino.

“This is the place?” Jake asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Sinclair. “You can park right by the front entrance, there, in the breezeway.”

He helped her to struggle out of the Mustang’s bucket seat. Once on her feet Mrs. Sinclair almost ran to the heavy double doors of the casino’s main entrance.

“Come on!” she insisted, waving impatiently to Jake. “My treat!”

Almost dazed with confused surprise, Jake followed her into the casino. Mrs. Sinclair slipped out of her coat and handed it to a stocky, bored-looking Native American woman tending the coat room. Jake took off his wool cap and stuffed it back into the pocket of his coat. He unzipped the coat but left it on.

The casino’s lobby was lined with slot machines. Down three thinly carpeted steps, the main room was already busy with customers. Jake saw that most of them were middle-aged women sitting in front of slot machines that whirred and dinged incessantly. Farther into the room a few stolid-looking men were sitting at a table playing cards. Others were huddled around another table. Craps, Jake guessed.

“See?” said Mrs. Sinclair grandly. “See how much fun everyone is having!”

It didn’t look like fun to Jake. All the customers looked grim, almost bellicose. The women at the slot machines seemed determined to hand all their money to the one-armed bandits as fast as they could.

“Come on!” Mrs. Sinclair urged. “My treat!”

Bewildered, Jake followed her down the three steps and onto the main floor. The place looked threadbare, worn out; it smelled of cigarette smoke and stale air.